Visiting Hours
by kitty london
Summary: Set at the beginning of year 6. Draco is called to Azkaban to visit his father. Mysterious things ensue. Lots of drama, a little angst, and plenty of Dracoish goodness. CHAPTER 8 NOW UP! I'VE RETURNED!
1. Default Chapter my 1st try at fanfic!

So here it is - my first ever attempt at fanfiction. *faints* Please,please, PLEASE review! I'll love you forever!   
  
You know the drill: JK Rowling is god(dess), and I own nothing of her great creation, not even Draco *sigh!*  
  
In other words - don't sue, I'm broke.  
  
Here we go....  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
I wake up from the sun streaming through the dorm windows. It's so bright it bleeds through the thick green velvet curtains, and right away I know it's late, because the Slytherin dorms are at the bottom of the south tower, halfway underground. If you look out the windows, your view's half blocked by grass. And if the sun is that bright on the ground . . .   
  
Instinctively, I check the watch that's always on my wrist. It's silver, from Father, since "a Malfoy always keeps track of time - every second can be used to your advantage," as he says. With all the sunlight, I don't need the charm that makes the numbers glow green to read them. It's 8:10. Damn.   
  
I spring-vault from bed and grab for some robes, muttering curses at time, sun, myself, furniture - anything in sight. Mostly myself, though. Why am I so tired all the time? It was like this over summer holidays, but never so bad. This is will be the fourth time I've been late for class in a month. In the old days, I could have just breezed by with a good excuse. Now, I just can't think of anything to say. How do you explain to a teacher that every time someone gives you a 'knowing' look, points at you, whispers about you without bothering to keep their voice down, you just want to hex them into oozing powder and fall asleep right there? At least if someone sends an owl home to complain, Mother will probably be too busy to read it. It scares me to think what would happen if Father was still here, if he knew...  
  
Father.   
  
The owl banging against my window before dawn, telling me, so I wouldn't have to read about it in the papers. Me reading them anyway. His picture on the front page, surrounded by Aurors. Him turning his good side to the camera. The train ride home in the luggage rack, compliments of Potter's goons. Mother at King's Cross, eyes hollow, skirt twisted the wrong way. Her starting to hug me, then not. Summer, every day dryer than the one before. Aurors all over our house, knocking on walls, breaking things. Breaking everything. Not one word from Azkaban, not a single word.   
  
I come back to my senses and realize I've been standing still with a shirt half-over my head for - check the watch - more than a minute. I have to stop thinking so much.   
  
~*~  
  
Then I'm out the common room, up the stairs, and past the Great Hall, combing my hair with one hand and clutching my books with the other. My mind is the only thing going faster than my legs. Pleasedon'tletmerunintoanyoneI'mgoingdon'tletmegetcaughtohpleasedon'tohPLEASE-  
  
I turn the corner and crash headlong into Professor Snape. So much for asking nicely.   
  
"I believe, Mister Malfoy, that you are considerably late for my class."   
  
I'm on the floor, gathering up the Transmogrification homework that fell out of my binder on impact. I mutter something like an apology. The Professor makes a little noise, and flicks his wand. The snowfall of papers instantly gather themselves up and fly neatly into my arms. I stand back up.  
  
"Thank you, Professor."  
  
"You are welcome, though perhaps, had you actually been on time, you wouldn't have dropped them in the first place."  
  
"I - I'm really sorry, sir. Overslept. I. I was just.... tired."  
  
"No doubt you have plenty to be tired of. With your family's recent... unfavorable publicity. I honestly don't blame you. "  
  
I freeze. This is the first time all year a teacher's mentioned anything about my family. I think it's the first time one's even spoken directly to me. Most of them have even stopped calling on me during class. But then, I've stopped raising my hand.   
  
Professor Snape is still staring at me. Just staring. Like he expects me to say something. Good Lord, he's looking at me like he expects to start a conversation. I can feel my face go red, but can't tell if it's from embarrassment or anger. I push past him and start almost jogging down the hall towards his class.  
  
"I'm sorry Professor, really, won't happen again, sorry you had to come find me, I'm going to class now, I don't-"  
  
"Stop, Mister Malfoy."  
  
I stop, but don't turn around. Instead, I watch my shoes, and Professor Snape's shadow as he strides up behind me. When he's standing right in front of me, he starts talking again.  
  
"Firstly," he says, and I don't know if he's angry or not, "I will thank you to not simply walk away from me in the future, or any other teacher for that matter, except perhaps Professor McGonagal, and you do that at your own personal risk. Secondly, I have left your class with an assignment, and in the care of the other Slytherin prefects, so I believe it will survive without our presence for a few minutes."   
  
I don't answer. Now I'm looking at the Professor's shoes....   
  
"And thirdly, I am not out of class to hunt you down. Actually, I am, but it's not about your attendance. I have something for you."  
  
There's a rustle as he reaches into the pocket of his robe, and pulls something out. I can't help myself. I look up. Professor Snape's holding a letter in a large, somewhat dirty envelope. I can see my name on the front in smudged ink.  
  
"This arrived for you at breakfast." Says the Professor. "Its carrier owl flew over the Slytherin table and, finding you weren't there, landed on my plate and began attacking me, subsequently getting bacon grease all over the front of my robes. I had to change before classes began."  
  
I open my mouth to apologize, but he cuts me off.   
  
"Obviously, it was given instructions for what to do in case you weren't there. It seems someone else has noticed that you aren't often at breakfast lately."  
  
I start to ask why Thor, my eagle owl, didn't just fly over and knock on my dormitory window, since he would know where I slept. Then I remember that Thor was sold last month, to help pay off Father's debts. It must have been a school owl. I shut my mouth.  
  
"So here you are, Mister Malfoy. I intended to give this to you before class, but as you weren't there, either..."   
  
The Professor stretches out his hand, which I'm now watching - I still haven't looked at his face. I take the envelope from it, and read the return address. I'm still with shock for a moment, but then I flip the envelope over and begin ripping it open madly. It can't be what I think it is, it just can't...  
  
Above me, Professor Snape clears his throat pointedly. Very pointedly. I finally look him in the eyes.   
  
"It's time for class, Mister Malfoy. You've already missed half of it."  
  
"Professor, this says it's from-"  
  
"I'm well aware of the address, after having it shoved into my face, along with my breakfast. However, I must inform you that now that this little mission is over, you are back to being my student. My exceptionally late student. Don't stare at me like a stuffed troll, Mister Malfoy. I suggest you - we, rather, get back to class. Now. And if you are ever this late again, I might actually be forced to take points away from my own house. Come along. You can open that when you are safely out of my jurisdiction."  
  
He turns and begins walking away without a word. I follow. Hell, I'd probably run wandless into an Auror convention if he told me to. I wouldn't care. All I can think about is the return address on that envelope.   
  
Azkaban. 


	2. The Letter

Whee! Thanks so much to all who've updated *feels important* I won't be able 2 update fo r awhile because I'm going back to the dorms/evil school computers. I'm sorry, but I'll be back next weekend!   
  
Luv&shnuggles, kitty.  
  
(I no own, you no sue, si?)  
  
~*~  
  
Professor Snape generally ignores me once we're back in class, which is a good thing, since I don't have a clue what we're supposed to be doing. Even HE would have to take some points off Slytherin if he noticed me just standing there in front of my cauldron. But that's what I'm doing: standing, and sometimes pushing ingredients around on my cutting board, and trying desperately not to look at the pile of books on the table in front of me. I've put the letter underneath everything, but I can still see it's edge, poking out from under my Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6. It's driving me mad. Who sent it? Is something wrong? I knew immediately that it couldn't be from Father himself; they don't allow prisoners to communicate directly, as it could be some kind of a coded message. Father explained it to me years ago, when we were talking about Aunt Bellatrix.   
  
Still, if anyone can fool the system, it's Father. The thought of having a letter from him puts a Gobstone-sized knot in my stomach that's half excitement and half fear. The fact is, I'm afraid to read that letter. And I'm afraid not to.  
  
I'm watching Professor Snape without actually seeing him. Then I realize he's watching me back. I put my head down and pretend to chop some boiled rabbit liver and, just for a second, I wonder about the Professor instead. Since the end of last year, he's been harder on me. Not any stricter, really, but a lot more distant. He hasn't even used my first name since May - it's been Mister Malfoy this, Mister Malfoy that. I haven't really paid enough attention to care, until now. And it bothers me. Of course, I know that he's on Dumbledore's side, in the end. I just have a hard time imagining it: Professor Snape siding with the idiots and Mudbloods. With POTTER. He used to be a Death Eater, for heaven's sake. It's almost inconceivable. Father once said that it was a lesson: Dumbledore won Professor Snape over to his side, which means he must be amazingly powerful, or at least persuasive. He could be doing it through mind-control, of course, but I've heard the fool doesn't believe in it. It would compromise his standards. So, Father's point was, watch out for Dumbledore. He may be a Muggle loving old buzzard, but he still has power. In a way.  
  
I don't get a look at the letter until lunch, and by then I'm about to pop like a slug under an engorgement charm. The second we're dismissed, I shove my way out of McGonagal's class and start battling through the sea of students. I try to keep to the side, so I can see into the classrooms - I need to find an empty one. There's no WAY I'm opening it in the Great Hall, where everyone can have a good look at Slimy Mister Malfoy's latest tragedy. Filthy gits.   
  
There - across the corridor, the Charms classroom is deserted. I have to shove a few people with my bag as I fight my way across. I'm almost there, when someone shoves me right back. I lose my footing and go sprawling to the floor. I just manage to avoid getting stepped on, and scoot over to the side. When I'm out of danger, I look down the corridor to see if I can tell who it was.... Of course.  
  
Ginny-the-youngest-Weasel has turned around to look at me. It had to have been her - she ignores me unless we're actively trying to kill each other. The bint's probably trying to see how badly I'm injured, so she can gloat about it later. But I can't read the expression on her face... For one bizarre moment, it looks like she's going to come over and HELP me. Then someone calls her name from farther down the corridor and off she trots without a backward glance. Oh, it was definitely her. But I'll threaten her later. There're more important things to do, now. The corridors are almost deserted by now, so I slip into the classroom without any problems. Then I lock the door from the inside, and sit down at a desk.   
  
My hands are actually shaking as I pull the envelope out of my bag. It feels strangely heavy, even though there's only one sheet of parchment inside. As I unfold it, the first thing I see is Azkaban's crest: an eye with and empty hourglass for a pupil. Comforting way to start a letter, all right. I've heard that everything is done differently, now that the Dementors are gone. Big conversationalists, these new guards. For a second I feel a bit of the old smirk creeping back onto my face. Then I look at the words.  
  
~Mr. Malfoy,  
  
It is my duty to inform you of an unfortunate thing. Prisoner M612, one Lucius Malfoy, has taken extremely ill. The prisoner was listed as being in Critical Condition on the night of October 31. On the night of November the 3rd, he was pronounced Terminal by resident physician Geoffrey Moon.   
  
The prisoner has listed you as his next of kin. A deathbed visit has been arranged for Saturday, November 6th, at 9am. Please inform us if you wish to change the date or time of this visit, though it may be unwise to postpone.   
  
Many Condolences,  
  
Manfred Jibbers,  
  
Events Coordinator, Azkaban Prison.~  
  
I stop reading the letter. Then I read it again. And a third time, just to be sure. I can hear myself laughing. Think they're being funny, these new pricks. And they call themselves professionals. I should take it up with the Ministry, their trying to scare me like this. Hell, I'll bet it's not even them. Potter and his goons just got their hands on an Azkaban seal, I bet. How DARE they? This is low, even for filthy half bred ooze like Potter. Thought he'd get to see me in a panic, did he? Oh, he'll get that, all right. I'll panic all over him. I'll KILL him! Then I'm on my feet and away. Blast Flitwick's lock to a thousand pieces and kick open the door. I run down the corridors full tilt, and curse a few portraits for good measure. He's DEAD, he is, I'll Avada Kedavra his arse so hard he'll be gone before he hits the floor, to do something like THIS, this horrible, to make me think... and he can't be, he just CAN'T, there's just no way, no, not like this....   
  
It's not until I look up and realize I'm back in the Common Room, and not on my way to the Great Hall to kill Potter, that I finally admit it. My last clear thought is something about being glad that everyone else is in class. It would present the wrong kind of image, seeing me cry. Because I am crying. Because it's all over. My Father is dying, and I'm going to Azkaban.   
  
Then nothing else is clear for a long time. 


	3. Surprises

~*~  
  
Whee! I'm back! First, thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially lilli, who lifted me out of a moment of evil plotbunny despair. I will definitely consider your suggestions *hinthint*! Other than that... I'm sorry, everyone. I should've warned you that last chappie was so depressing. *hears collective hissing of Lucius - lusters the world over* Please don't kill me yet: things aren't always what they seem *x-files theme plays in background* Ooh, bask in the suspense fora minute...  
  
Ok, I'll put you out of your misery. On with chapter three!   
  
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When I wake up, I'm facedown on the Common Room floor, with a large damp puddle all around me. I sit up very slowly,  
  
and it takes me a full minute to remember what happened. Then the truth hits me like the Hogwarts Express. But, oddly   
  
enough, I don't feel like killing anything this time. Or like crying, either. I really don't know what I feel like.   
  
I sit there on the floor for I don't know how long, trying to figure it all. Suddenly there are voices coming from outside.  
  
My body's on its feet before my mind could tell it to get up off the carpet. School must be out.   
  
School, thinks my brain as my body carries it up to the dorms. I remember school. I get the feeling I must have even cared   
  
about it, a long time ago.  
  
I reach the dorms and climb straight onto my four-poster. It's while pulling the curtains closed around me that I   
  
realize I still haven't let go of the letter. I relax my hand and see the marks on my palm where my nails bit into it. I   
  
also realize it hurts. A lot. I just didn't notice until now. I rub my palm with my other hand, and reread the letter.   
  
Then I kick off my shoes, and read it again. Then I'm not sure what to do. I just sit there on my bed for a while (over  
  
half an hour, according to the watch). I feel almost like I'm waiting for something, but what? For someone to come find me?  
  
That's completely ridiculous, of course. Who would come? Crabbe and Goyle? They've got their own fathers to worry about.   
  
I've hardly seen them all year, and not at all over the summer. Neither of them came round once.  
  
This is so pathetic, I let out a reflexive snerk. Good Lord, I'm SULKING. I've just been told that my father will   
  
die a horrible death in prison, and I'm sulking because nobody would come to PLAY with me. What was I thinking, that Crabbe   
  
and Goyle would drop by on Sundays for pumpkin juice and a game of exploding snap? That we would beat up some house elves   
  
and have broom-races around the Manor and sniffle about our fathers being in prison? HONESTLY, is THAT what I wanted?  
  
'Yes.' Says something small from inside me. 'That was EXACTLY what you wanted.'  
  
And suddenly I'm miserable. It crashes over me in a wave. This is a thousand times worse than when I was crying,   
  
because this is quiet. I feel worse than I've ever felt in my life, and for the first time there's no one to take it out on,  
  
except myself. I flop onto my back across the bed. I'm laying horizontally, and my head pokes out through the curtains,   
  
blinding me with late afternoon sunlight. With a groan, I use the unfolded letter to cover my face.  
  
And that's when I see it.  
  
I can see the words of the message that I already know by heart, almost touching my eyes. And I can see other words,   
  
as well.   
  
I sit up with a jolt, promptly smacking myself in the face with the curtains. For a moment I stare at the letter   
  
like it's begun spouting Weird Sisters lyrics. Then I fling myself off the bed so fast I almost trip over the covers.   
  
Scrambling to the window, I hold it up to the dying light. Yes, there's definitely something there - I can see it the way   
  
you can see the words of a letter through a closed envelope. This must've been why the parchment felt heavy earlier.   
  
I'd forgotten.   
  
I squint my eyes until the lashes are touching, but I can't quite make out the words. It's been written too faintly,  
  
and the light isn't strong enough. It's no use. I lower the letter and grab my wand. I'm going to have to force it out. I  
  
hesitate for a moment, wondering what spell to use, and worrying that I'll set the thing on fire by accident. I'm just that   
  
nervous, and reading this scrap of parchment suddenly seems like the most important thing I will ever do. I run through the  
  
most difficult spells I can remember, but there's nothing that seems to deal with revealing hidden writing. I turn the   
  
letter over in my hands, noticing again how heavy it is, and how thick....   
  
Of course. The writing's not hidden IN the parchment - it's on another sheet. I just have to separate them. Still, nothing  
  
I can recall seems right for the job. Then I remember something Flitwick said last week, though it seems like years ago.   
  
He was talking to McGonagal, something about a way to keep Transfigured dustbunnies from mating... it kept them on seperate  
  
sides of the hutches....  
  
In a flash, I find what I'm looking for. I raise my wand - and pause again. Something doesn't feel quite right   
  
about this. It seems too SIMPLE. Like McGonagal asking you an easy question. It feels like a trick. My arm is starting to  
  
hurt. I'll have to do it now, fast, before I think too much and lose my nerve. And so I do.  
  
"FISSILUSI!"  
  
There's a cheerful popping noise, and then I'm holding two seperate papers. I'm so relieved I actually give a happy   
  
little jump into the air. Of course, the door chooses that precise moment to open.  
  
Goyle is standing in the doorway, and his tiny dull eyes are the widest I've ever seen them. I drop back to earth   
  
with a nervous 'ahem'. My mouth is open for a second before anything comes out.  
  
"What do you think YOU'RE doing? Get out of the door, or you'll block off the air supply. Pitiful."  
  
Goyle gives a mandatory grunt and shuffles over to his nightstand. He still looks surprised, though - as surprised   
  
anyone with that few facial expressions can look. He gets out a new quill and heads off. I can't stop myself.  
  
"Hoy, Goyle... you heard anything from your father?"  
  
He stares at me. If I could, I'd be doing the same thing. I can't BELIEVE myself - I've cried, jumped for joy, and  
  
spoken to Goyle like a human being all in one day. I've got to be more careful.  
  
"Uh. No." He manages.  
  
"Right, then. I figured. I doubt he'd even be ABLE to write to you, anyway. I'm sure you two'd have really DEEP   
  
conversations, all right."   
  
It's the best cover-up I can manage, and I guess Goyle swallows it, because his shoulders hunch over and his eyes get  
  
dull again. He shuffles out without a word. The door closes behind him. I sigh.  
  
Then I'm on the letter the way Potter's on a chance to show off - all over it. I run through it so fast the actual  
  
words take a second to register in my brain. And when they do, I don't believe them.  
  
  
  
~Draco,  
  
Disregard the other letter entirely. There is nothing wrong with me. Thank God for the change in management-humans  
  
are infinitely easier to fool than Dementors. Speak of this to no one. Come to see me as arranged. Bring money, at least   
  
thirty Galleons. You'll need it to bribe the guards.   
  
Remember to say NOTHING about this, not even to your mother. Especially not to your mother. You are my son, Draco.  
  
Don't act like a fool.   
  
Be there on the sixth.  
  
Lucius Malfoy.~   
  
I don't read it again, like the first one. Instead I let it drop from my hand to the stone floor. Then I follow it.  
  
I think I'm in shock. Maybe I'm hallucinating, just making what I want to happen seem real. This seems too perfect to   
  
really be happening. This seems like too much to ask. You don't get past Azkaban.  
  
'Still, if anyone can fool the system, it's Father.' I think, and that one little thought makes my hope skyrocket  
  
so fast I wonder vaguely if I'm having a heart attack. I don't care who walks in on me now, sitting on the floor, clutching  
  
my chest. I don't care about anyone. My father is alive.  
  
But as soon as I dare to believe this might actually be real, my emotions take a downward turn, to... what?   
  
Embarrassment? No, not quite. Anger? Am I actually ANGRY? What's WRONG with me? Then, what's wrong with my Father? How   
  
could he do something like this, actually making me think he was actually....  
  
I can't finish the question, not even mentally. The thought of what he would say suddenly stops me. Of what he would do if he caught me questioning him like this. I shudder a little, and stand up. What am I doing, sitting on the floor? My robes will be filthy. I have GOT to stop thinking so much. I gather up the letters and stuff them under my mattress. I've got work to do. Thirty galleons... I don't even bother checking my wallet. It has the same amount in it that it's had since term began: two galleons, eight sickles, and five knuts. It was all Mother could spare, what with keeping off Father's debts - Not that those were HIS fault, I correct myself quickly. It's the new, Muggle-loving ministry.  
  
Those gits. Those revolting, half bred, rat-spawned disgraces to the name of Wizard....  
  
I suddenly realize I'm smiling, well, leering - just like old times. I feel more like my old self than I have in a very long time. It's wonderful. With my mouth stretched so much it's making my face hurt, I check the calender. Today is Wednesday. By Saturday night, I need thirty galleons at least. If possible, my mouth pulls even wider. I slick my hair back, adjust my robes, and stride briskly from the dormitory.  
  
It's extortion time. 


	4. Hallway Meetings

Hey, guys! This chapter's a little shorter than the others, half because I'm experimenting and half because I'm not sure  
  
what to do next. To be honest, I'm really not sure where this fic is going. Only updating on weekends is a drag, too. So,  
  
I've decided - I'll need at least four reviews before I post any more chapters. Praises, flames, questions and complaints   
  
all count. I just need to know that enough ppl are reading this on a regular basis to make it worthwhile. So if you love   
  
me, let me know!  
  
Thanks & Huggies,  
  
Kitty.   
  
  
  
  
  
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I leave lunch early on Friday, mentally calculating. I've already added everything up on parchment, but I need to  
  
be SURE... By the time I reach the second floor, I'm positive. Positive and grinning.  
  
Grand total: thirty-three Galleons, two sickles.  
  
Life has never been better.  
  
I cornered Parvati first thing after leaving the dorms on Wednesday, in the corridor outside the Common Room  
  
entrance. I threatened her with telling her sister about her sharing Padma's Beauxbatons boyfriend. An old rumour,  
  
I'm amazed I ever remembered it, but apparently it struck a nerve, because it sent her running to the girls toilet, and me   
  
with four new Galleons. I still have my touch. Then I got ahold of Longbottom, on his way back from Herbology. I didn't  
  
even have to say a word to the fat little wanker; I just glared, and got ten galleons, three sickles. His hag of a grand-  
  
mother must be LOADED.   
  
The rest was busy work, but easy enough: Brown, Finnigan, and both Creevey rats Thursday afternoon. Then Padma,   
  
Bones, the youngest Creevey again, MacMillian, and Abbot before lunch today. I'm still a bit worried as to what this money's   
  
actually going to be used for, but I don't allow myself to think about it. I'm still feeling great, and even think I feel a   
  
bit of the old swagger coming back as I walk down the hall. Lunch hasn't let out yet, so the corridors are deserted. Well,  
  
not quite.  
  
That she-weasel is coming out of the toilet just ahead of me. She has to have seen me, but she just crosses to the  
  
other side of the corridor and goes on with her head down. I'm amazed at myself for not stopping her. But for some reason,  
  
I don't feel like berating her right now. It's not like I'd get any money off her. But she DOES need payback for   
  
tripping me the other day - I'd almost forgotten. Almost. Still, it doesn't seem worth it just now. I'd rather just worry  
  
about Azkaban. Maybe I'll get her after dinner. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe... not at all?  
  
CLINK.  
  
The tiny sound echoes in the empty corridor. I turn around to a sight I never thought I'd see. Ginny Weasley has   
  
dropped a sickle. I can't stop myself.  
  
"Well, WELL." I say, working on the drawl that used to come so easily. "Since when do you have money to throw away,  
  
Weasley? Still, I expect it's a once in a lifetime opportunity for your family - I'll let you get on with it."  
  
She turns but doesn't bend to pick it up. Her face is red already.  
  
"Go stuff yourself, Malfoy. Weren't so smooth Wednesday, were you? Crawling around the corridors. What, did you   
  
lose your last brain cell?"  
  
Slowly, I head over to her. The swagger is definitely back now.   
  
"I figured you would know, since you put me there. Or don't you recall? I've heard rodents have bad memories."  
  
"I - what? I didn't push you."  
  
"HUH."  
  
"It's not like I wouldn't want to - someone must've gotten there before me."  
  
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, you..." I trail off, and remember the expression on her face when she'd looked   
  
back at me. She was really going to...? I snap back to the present. Weasley's staring at me expectantly. She doesn't   
  
exactly LOOK helpful. I change tactics.  
  
"Are you going to pick that up?" I ask, gesturing to the sickle on the floor between us. We're almost nose to nose.  
  
She's taller than I thought. "Or shall we leave it there as an immortal tribute to the day a Weasley actually had some cash?"  
  
"If you'd BACK UP, I might get it."  
  
"Cocky little rodent, aren't we? I might be offended, if I didn't know how you'd been brought up. I doubt anyone   
  
living in that cave you call a house would have very good manners."  
  
"Well, it obviously didn't help you much, growing up in a... what was it, manor? It had some nice furniture, I'll   
  
give you that. You know that portrait of your father in the green cloak? The one the Aurors confiscated? Dad keeps it in  
  
his garage now. We played darts with it over the summer."  
  
I'm red now, too. My ears are ringing like someone shot off a wand right by my head. I don't know whether to hurt   
  
her or...   
  
'Or WHAT?' Taunts a little voice in the back of my head. 'Cry? Or maybe just walk away? You're a disgrace to the   
  
name of Malfoy. Would your father run away from a fight? Go on, WOULD HE?!'   
  
I shake myself out of it. What am I DOING? Without any more hesitation, I reach for my wand.  
  
-And realize it's being pointed at my chest.  
  
"What IS it with you?" For some reason, Weasley doesn't look as pleased as I figured she would. She's staring at me  
  
hard. "So, are you stoned, or what? Do you realize I just picked your pocket? You seriously DIDN'T NOTICE?"   
  
I don't answer. I'm totally numb with a mix of shock and nerves about just what she's planning to do with me. Then,  
  
for the second time in five minutes, something happens that I would never expect from a Weasley - or anyone else, for that   
  
matter. She turns my wand around so that the handle's towards me, and gives it a little shove into my chest.   
  
"Here," she says roughly, "that wasn't as much fun as it should have been." And then she starts walking away, just  
  
like that. Almost. After a few steps, she stops for a second. With her back still turned, she says,  
  
"You need to get a grip on yourself, Malfoy. You're not the only one with problems."  
  
I watch her leave. Right on cue, I hear the noise of a crowd on the stairs - lunch is over. In a few seconds, a   
  
flood of students have blocked my view of her completely. They haven't quite reached my part of the corridor when I look   
  
down. Her sickle is still on the floor. I don't bother to pick it up. I just turn around, my full pockets feeling heavier   
  
than they did before, and walk off, a little ahead of the crowd. 


	5. Headaches and Nightmares Aplenty, Ahoy!

Yay! Reviewsies! I knew you cared *sniff*. You know, I don't think I've been nice enough to my reviewers - so, starting now, I'm giving everybody who reviewed the last chapter a special mention at the bottom of the page. Feel the love....   
  
In other news... I just noticed that I've stopped giving credit to J.K. Rowling in every chapter... does this mean the plagarism police are on their way? *peeks out window* I swear I didn't mean to! Help meeeee! *ahem* so, I don't own anything in the H.P. universe, no matter how much I wish, not now, not EVER, and I deem that if I ever forget to put up a disclamer again, this will cover for it. So there.  
  
Also, I won't be updating next weekend - my Creative Writing class is taking a trip to New Orleans. Muahaha. So, in the event that I'm NOT kidnapped and murdered on Bourbon Street, I'll see ya'll in February. Ciao!  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
By the time school's let out, the day has gone rainy and so overcast that it looks like twilight. In the common room, the   
  
fire's already burning. I flop myself into an armchair to think. Every time I breathe, the coins in my pockets rattle.  
  
It's distracting me, with all the noise and weight. I'm amazed my pockets haven't ripped yet - it wore me out, carrying them  
  
around all day. But at least it's for a good cause...  
  
Something inside me lets out a snicker at that, but I push it back down. I'm helping my Father - there's nothing wrong with it. I should just be glad that he's ALIVE. The man faked a deadly disease just so I could VISIT him, for Heaven's sake. For a minute, I let myself daydream about what he might have planned for me. Scenarios scuttle through my mind like the shadows of the fire on the wall - my Father, entrusting me with secret documents. My Father, telling me that I, and only I, am the person who can help him escape. My Father, going to all that trouble just to talk to me...  
  
But even I have to admit that last one is a little improbable. He obviously has something important to say - he wouldnt've bothered with it just to have a chat. Still, though... I suppose it could happen. Four months in prison can change a man. Maybe....   
  
I shift, and the money in my pocket jingles so loud that I almost jump out of my chair. Once I've calmed down, I jump out of it for real, and head for the dorms. I've got to get this stuff off me. I start to just dump it on my bed, then realise where I am and search for a hiding place. I only need to keep it safe for one night, but you don't trust anyone, for any length of time. It's Slytherin policy.   
  
Eventually, I end up tying the stuff in an old cloak and shoving it to the bottom of my trunk. It's better than nothing. I'm too terrified to imagine what would happen if this money gets stolen. So I don't. I attempt some homework, and head down to dinner, thinking that maybe the sudden, growing queasiness in my stomache is just hunger. No such luck. I poke miserably at my veal and stare across the Great Hall - actually, at Brown and Ginny Weasley (No, no, JUST Weasley - the filth doesn't deserve a first name), who are apparently talking about something very funny. It's probably me, but I'm too uptight to even feel angry. I shove my plate away in disgust and head back to the South Tower. Maybe I should just get some sleep.  
  
But every step I take feels harder than the one before it, like I'm walking through wet cement. In contrast, my head's buzzing like a Cornish pixie nest, little half-finished thoughts whizzing around and banging into each other, making me feel dizzy and sick.  
  
~Butwhatiftheywon'tletmeinorthere'snotenoughmoneyofcoursethere'senoughwhathappensifi'mcaughtwhathappensthenoutofthefryigpanintotheohGODwhatifhe'sreallysickafterall?~  
  
  
  
I slap myself hard on the forehead to clear my brain, and only succeed in giving myself a headache, as well. I stumble up to the dorms in a daze, collapse onto my bed, and prepare to be miserable. If I've diagnosed myself right, there's nothing else for it.   
  
I've started to worry.  
  
Not surprisingly, I barely sleep all night. When the others start coming in for bed, I just pull the curtains around me. I stare alternately at the canopy above me, and my watch. Four different times, I'm sure I hear someone climbing out of their bed to my trunk, and the money. Four different times, I peek out from the curtains and don't see anything. And four different times, I get up to check on it anyway.   
  
It's starting to get light out when I return from number four, shivering in the cold, throw my pillow over my eyes, and finally feel something like exhaustion. Maybe if I just try to relax....  
  
It's cold. And damp. I shiver, but the two men holding me by the arms don't seem to notice.   
  
"What is this?" I venture.  
  
In response, one of them jerks me so hard that my head snaps back. "Quiet, you. We don't take lip from prisoners." he says, in a voice that's amazingly deep for someone so short. They're BOTH amazingly short for grown men - I'm actually taller than they are. We stop at an ugly, dank archwayway, guarded by another fairly short wizard, standing behind a sort of glass barrier in thick grey uniform robes. He looks bored.   
  
"State yeh business, an' hurry the 'ell up."  
  
"Transfer of prisoner M612 to C-Block." Says one of my escorts. Where have I heard that before...?  
  
"Right. Lead 'im through."  
  
My guards start to walk, but hit resistance when I won't move. I'm staring at the glass enclosure with indescribable horror. I can make out my reflection, and suddenly my hair is longer, my nose is sharper, my eyes are colder grey -   
  
I'm looking out from my father's face.  
  
My howls echo off the stone walls as the Azkaban jailers drag me to my cell.  
  
My scream wakes me up. It's still dark, and suffocating... I remember where I really am, and stick my head out the curtains of my four-poster with uncharted relief. The dorms are just starting to lighten with weak morning sunlight.   
  
"Shuddup." Montague grumbles from his bed across the room. A second later, a bottle of broom polish flies through his curtains and clunks several feet away. I ignore it as I shuffle out of bed. I check once again on the money, which is still where I left it, and change robes. According to the watch, it's 6:45 am. Time to visit Azkaban.  
  
I'm halfway to the Great Hall when I realize that I have no idea how I'm supposed to get there. I stop short and lean against the wall, the coins in my pocket clanking. Both letters are still downstairs under my mattress, but I'm sure that neither mentioned anything about transportation. And wasn't Azkaban on an island somewhere? I fidget nervously. Well, there's nothing for it. Maybe a proffessor would know...? But there's no WAY I'm talking to a one of them, not about this. I straighten and head into the Great Hall, hoping that something will persent itself.  
  
Which it does, immediately, in the form of an overexcited barn owl. As soon as I step through the double doors, it assaults me, pecking violently and trying to hoot at the same time. It must be the same one that attacked Proffessor Snape. I start to smile but, apparently, mad birds are attracted to exposed teeth.  
  
One slightly bleeding lip and a drop-kicked owl later, I'm holding another letter from Azkaban. I tear it open one handed, wiping my mouth with the other sleeve. I read it and breathe a sigh of relief that I never thought would be possible in something relating to Azkaban.   
  
  
  
~Dear Mister Malfoy:  
  
This is merely a reminder of your 9 am visit with prisoner M612, Lucius Malfoy. Our Visitors Center has been connected to the Floo Network for this occasion. Please administer Floo powder to a suitable fire and request the "Azkaban Prison Visitor Center." Thank you, and we look forward to your visit.  
  
-Manfred Jibbers,  
  
Events Coordinator,  
  
Azkaban Prison.~  
  
So, one thing about this is simple, anyway. I turn back towards the South Tower. I've got some Floo powder in my trunk, and the Common Room fire should do - dormitory fires and such aren't supposed to be connected to Floo Network, of course, but the Slytherin Common Room's been illegally rigged for years. I've snuck out quite a few times, usually to Hogsmeade, and once to Knockturn alley to pick up some baby Venemous Tentaculas to put in Potter's bed - unfortunately, they crawled away in the night. We still haven't found them....  
  
I come out of my reminiscing and hurry to the Common Room. I slip upstairs, where everyone's still sleeping, and dig the tiny blue pouch from underneath some socks. I check to make sure all the money's there one last time, and scuttle back down to the Common Room, where I throw a pinch of the purple stuff into the flames. They immediately roar emerald, and I step into them.  
  
"Azkaban Prison Visitors Center!" I say as loudly as I dare, hoping the fire won't get confused by the tremble in my voice. The world starts spinning...  
  
A minute later, I'm flung out of the flames with a slight OOF. I dust myself off and look around. My vision is blurry, but whether I'm still dizzy or just that terrified, I can't tell. One thing is obvious; it's the moment of truth.  
  
I'm inside Azkaban.   
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
LOVE NOTES!  
  
orangepenguin: MOOOLDY!!! I lovelovelove you, your reviews, your fanfic, your quoccas, etc. You've been ever-so-nice, and   
  
have made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Capt. Viggo would be proud.  
  
Madaline: Your reviews are so very, very gewd! And don't worry, I'm getting to the good part soon. Psst - a secret warning - I am now convinced that you should write   
  
fanfiction as well, and shall cheerfully bother you about it until you cave. Mwah.  
  
BubblyFizz03: Whee! Your review made me happy! And to answer your question... heh heh. Whoops. No, Transmogrification isn't  
  
in the American version. It's a product of my slightly dyslexic, spellcheckapobic brain. Thanks for pointing it out to me;  
  
I'm on me way to correct it now!  
  
p.s - So you're British, eh? COOOOOL....  
  
Laughing Dragoness: *hugs* I've made a new friend! I R&R-ed some of your fic earlier - it blew me away! You float my proverbial boat, Dahlin'. Cuddles all the way. 


	6. The Seeing of Cblock

A/N: I'm ba-aack... New Orleans was wonderful, thanks. Unfortunately, it didn't leave much time for writing *sobs*.  
  
Disclaimer: Rowling owns all. I am but a poor, flattering fangirl - emphasis on poor. Please, please don't sue!   
  
Chapter 6  
  
I'd imagined the visitors center as being a lot like a cell: dank and cold and made of ancient, dark stone, with distinctly violent-looking guards positioned around the walls, glaring at me.  
  
The room I'm standing in fits all of these descriptions perfectly.  
  
I don't get much more of a chance to form impressions, because a moment later I'm accosted for the second time this morning, though now it's definitely not an owl. The man grabbing me by the shoulders is larger than any bird could ever hope to be, and decidedly less fluffy.   
  
"Right. Empty yeh pockets. And I don't want any trouble, eh?"  
  
"Um."   
  
I nod weakly, and start to obey. Then I remember the point of the week's activities. With my best cocky, knowing smirk, I dutifully reach into my robe and pull out five successive handfuls of cash.   
  
Things go considerably faster after that.  
  
I manage to breeze by most of the searches, but I still have to do the paperwork. It takes me almost an hour and at least ten rolls of parchment to complete the First Time Visitors Questionnaire. Still, it's not nearly as bad as it could have been, I think as I stand and stretch at last. Father always taught me that you don't answer anything you don't absolutely have to, and to not give out information unless you're sure they know it already. People tend to overlook unfilled blanks, if you have enough money to dispense. Which, for the first time in a while, I do.  
  
I hand the stack of parchment rolls to the guard who comes to collect them. He's wearing grey uniform robes with the Azkaban seal on his sleeve. I remember my dream and shudder.   
  
"A-HEM."  
  
I hand him another galleon, and wait a minute as he conveniently misses the blanks.  
  
"Alright then. Come this way."  
  
He puts one massive hand on my shoulder and steers me away, out the tiny, magically sealed door. It doesn't have any kind of lock or handle - he uses a special charm, muttering something I can't make out, to open it. Then I'm shoved into a dank, airless passageway, with more nameless, ugly guards hulking on either side. Charming decorators, alright. I have to pay my way through several more searches before we reach the actual cells, and start to worry that my money is going to run out before I get anywhere near Father. I suspect the main point of all this is to pay his personal guards to leave the room, or something like that. That's what will take the most cash. Cash that, by the time we reach C-block, I'm worried I might not have.  
  
The actual prison is about the most horrible place I have ever been in my life. After only a minute or two of traveling, I shut my eyes, suddenly glad that I'm being led along so forcefully, because it means I don't have to look where I'm going. Not like it would be much easier with my eyes open - the place is so dark I can barely see my feet. But at least it hides the shadowy figures crouching behind the thick bars of their cells, or reaching out a filthy hand. Of course, blocking off one sense only makes the others stronger; I've now got a front row seat for the howls and screams and revolting curses, the smells the death and mold...  
  
I decide to open my eyes, after all. This may well be a mistake, because the first thing I see is the glass console from my nightmare. Before I can stop myself, I check my reflection in the glass... I see nothing but myself, and sigh. Then I realize the wizard behind it is staring at me expectantly. I must have missed something.  
  
"Er, excuse me?"  
  
"What's your NAME, boy?" The man talks very slowly and clearly. He obviously doesn't think I'm terribly bright.  
  
"Draco Malfoy."  
  
The man behind the glass stares at me again. I can feel the other guard's grip on my shoulder tighten, just a little. They must know Father.   
  
The glass-booth wizard nods, very slowly. Then he clears his throat, looking a bit less tough than before.   
  
"Righ'. Lead 'im through, go on!"  
  
I manage to sneer at him politely as we head through the archway to C-block, and raise my chin a fraction higher. I AM still a Malfoy, after all. And we command respect in every situation.   
  
My good mood, unfortunately, doesn't last very long. I only need to take a few steps onto it to know what C-block really is: the sick ward. Quickly, I change my opinion of B-block being the worst place in the world. At least those prisoners were semi-healthy, and making noise. Terrible noise, yes, but anything would be better than the unnatural silence that greets me in this section. It gives you the feeling that, even if the prisoners here shouted and moaned and sobbed, everything would still be dead. Including you. I swallow uneasily.   
  
Aside from the weird silence, though, this place almost looks normal. Someone seeing it for the first time, not knowing where they were, would probably mistake it for another building altogether. It's certainly newer than the rest of Azkaban - the bricks are all the same shape and size, and have crumbled significantly less. I suppose it took a while for the idea of taking care of prisoners to occur to the management. Not that they're doing such a bang-up job - most of the cells we're passing are empty. Apparently, "sick" is synonymous with "may as well be dead" in the Azkaban vocabulary. Well, except for Father. I HOPE....  
  
We get near the end of the long main hallway at last, and pass some cells that are actually occupied, though I can't make myself look at the prisoners inside them. I'm too worried that I'll see someone I'd recognize. My father has connections, quite a few of which were thrown in here at the same time he was.   
  
I barely have time to finish that thought when a living example rounds the corner ahead of me. The hair and eyes are different, and he's acquired a real or staged limp, but I'd recognize that expression anywhere - the same lips-down, teeth-bared, eyebrows-up look of snarling disapproval that scared me into silence at least once a week throughout my whole childhood, when he came to talk business with Father. My father's old associate, Jeffrey Moon, is heading towards me. I stop dead. This might have made the guard suspicious, but he stops, too, and makes a kind of awkward salute.  
  
"G'Morning, Doctor Moon, sir."  
  
Moon reaches us, and pauses. He nods carelessly to the guard, but his eyes are on me. I can read his glance like the Daily Prophet. "Wait", it says. I try to look natural. Then he looks away, back at the guard, who didn't notice anything.   
  
"Good morning, Addel. Keeping busy?" He's picked up a fake accent, but it's definitely the same reedy, oil-filled voice I remember.  
  
"Oh, uh, yessir. Just taking this young scoundrel-" he jerks on my arm "-on a graveyard visit, if yeh follow me, sir."   
  
Now Moon stares at me dead-on, and looks me over with an expression that clearly shows he's never seen me before in his life. He always was a good actor.   
  
"Well WELL, boy. I dare guess who you're related to."  
  
"Just what I thought, Doctor." My guard - Addel? - puffs out a brawny chest. "He's the mirror image of his father, inee?" He laughs, remarkably like Peeves. "Let's hope he turns out a bit better, righ'?"  
  
"Indeed." Moon pauses a second, and glances around himself with one hand on his forehead, every inch the ordinary, forgetful doctor.  
  
"Excuse me, but I seem to have left my clipboard somewhere back there... I'll take this one the rest of the way, if you'd like."  
  
Addel lets go of me instantly. Either he admires Moon, or is afraid of him. It's usually hard to tell.   
  
"Right. Thank you, Addel. See you around."  
  
My guard takes it as a dismissal, and leaves. Besides some barely-conscious prisoners, I'm alone with Moon in the hallway. Still, he leans in close to talk to me.   
  
"Come on. MOVE. We have to make this look convincing."  
  
I start walking, obediently. There are so many things I want to ask him, my mouth has trouble getting one out first. Moon must've read the expression on my face, anyway, because he chuckles like a stagnant lake.  
  
"Did you recognize me?" Without leaving time for me to answer, he goes on. "Probably, I expect. But that's not a problem. The best thing about working behind the scenes, Draco. A clean getaway. I worked for years to keep my face out of the papers, my name off the front page... and now, here I am, doing service for the Master, under their filthy mudblooded noses. I've made it so they don't suspect a thing." I'm worried now. The hall that felt so deserted seconds ago now seems like it's listening to every word Moon says. What about security measures? He's saying way, WAY too much, and he's still going on without pause. Father once said that Moon was intelligent, until he got a chance to brag.  
  
"And the best thing," he continues, "is that I didn't even have to change my name. Just altered the spelling, and drew up a nice medical license. I haven't a clue what I'm doing, professionally, but I'm a good enough actor that they never even notice. Not as though they pay much attention to the sick here, anyway. And-"  
  
I open my mouth, thinking I'll make him shut up myself, before he gets us both permanent accomodations, but as we turn another corner he clams up by himself. Instantly, I see why. We've started down another, shorter, dead-ended hallway. There are only a couple of cells on each side, all of which I can see are empty. But the last cell on the right must be occupied, because it's flanked by the two biggest guards I've seen yet. Moon straightens and clears his throat nervously as we head towards it. I do, too. My father usually has that effect on people.   
  
"Hello, Mister Malfoy," says Moon in a distant, professional voice. "You have a visitor."  
  
~*~  
  
So, there you have it. I'm leaving ya'll in suspense for yet another week. *winces at the gathering torches and pitchforks* I'm really sorry - I SWEAR I didn't mean to this time. I actually meant for this chapter to cover everything I've been building up to, aka Draco's conversation with his father. But I've been really busy and tired and the like and, honestly, I don't know what's going to happen in the next chapter. Seriously. I have no more idea what Lucius & Draco are going to say to each other than you do. Probably less. Way less.   
  
What I'm saying is... I'm stuck. I've got several ideas for directions to go with this story, but I don't know which one of them to pick, or if any will pan out in an even semi-believable way, and, generally, I'm confused. So, does anybody out there have suggestions? I'll love you all if you do. I'm not exactly saying I'll use them, but I'll love you all. Now, with that said, does anyone want to help poor lil' Draco out?  
  
Draco: *makes puppy face* Pleeease?  
  
Now how can you argue with THAT? Come on - drop me a line, send writer's block bashing aid and FAST.   
  
Love!  
  
Kitty.  
  
REVIEWERS (!)  
  
orangepenguin - what can I say? N.O. was the BEST!!!! Moldy dearest, you know more people than me; will you help spread the word that I need sugestions? Shnuggles & thanks!  
  
ps - they honored every vow, and where are they now...? Tee-hee.  
  
Laughing Dragoness - woot! you're the greatest reviewer EVER. I bow to thee, oh gret Queen of the Universe (or was it Empress..? sorry!) Love forever from Kitty! 


	7. The End of the Beginning

A/N Hi! I don't own this! I have nothing else to say!   
  
Oh yeah - Happy Valentine's Day!  
  
WOOT.  
  
Chapter 7  
  
I can't look at him. I step forwards until I know he must be able to see me, but I just can't look. I feel light and queasy, and something tiny and white-hot inside me is telling me to RUN, run right now, before they can catch me, before I can find out what he wants. Because suddenly, I don't want to know.   
  
Then one of my father's guards leans forward, and the spell breaks.   
  
"Right. State your name."  
  
"dracomalfoy."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Draco Malfoy." I say, keeping my eyes on my shoes.  
  
That is, until the other, even larger guard grabs my chin and yanks my face up, hard, to make me look at him.  
  
"I don't like the look a' you." He says, his grizzly pale face an inch from mine. "Hoy - you been through the searches?"  
  
Being somewhat intimidated, I don't shoot off my usual sarcastic response. Actually, I don't shoot off any response - my voice seems to be hiding somewhere, probably under its bed, quivering in terror. Instead I nod. But I forgot nodding is really quite difficult when a half-troll is holding your head still with a dinner plate sized hand.   
  
"ANSWER ME!!!" He bellows. I scrunch my eyes up against a faceful of sprayed spit and hope that he doesn't have anything contagious. I try to answer, but only manage a sort of shriveling squeak. Luckily, I'm spared having to try any more.  
  
"Let go of him. No son of mine will be treated like that. Let. Go."  
  
The guard does so, and for a second I think I'll just slide to the floor in a flood of relief. Because the instant I hear my Father's voice, I know once and for all that he's not dying. That's not the voice of a sick man coming from his cell, no matter how much he might try to make it sound weak and faint. You can't stop a voice with that much power and authority from coming across. He's alright, after all. I sigh. But I still don't look up.  
  
From his cell, my Father clears his throat.  
  
I put my hands deep into my pockets, reaching for the last of the money. I'm lucky - I think there's just enough left. I glance around for Moon, to help me talk them into it, but he's disappeared without a sound. Great accomplice, for sure. I fidget nervously. I can feel the guards' eyes burning holes in me, especially the bigger one, but they don't make a move. Father has shut them up. Taking heart, I manage a nice jeer as I pull out half of the money left in my robes.   
  
"If you, er, GENTLEMEN wouldn't mind, I'd like to talk to my Father privately."  
  
They examine the galleons in my palm. One of them lets out a snort of something that, from a nicer person, might qualify as laughter.   
  
"You're JOKING, boy." Says the smaller one. I give him a bargainer's glare.   
  
Then, resignedly, I pull out a few more coins. The bigger one makes a move like he's going to grab the growing mound of cash, but the smaller, who's obviously the brains of the operation, looks thoughtful.  
  
"Look here," he says, "to leave you alone, we'll take THESE-" he snatches the money from my hands and hides it somewhere in his robe before I can focus my eyes on what he's doing- "And for five more galleons, we won't tell on you, neither."  
  
My jeer shrivels. I only have four galleons left in my pocket.  
  
"Three." I offer.  
  
"FIVE, boy, or we'll throw you in there with him."  
  
"Alright, alright..." My hand are sweating as I put them in my pockets, making it hard to grip the coins. I breathe in shakily as I pull them out.   
  
"Look" my voice is a barely discernable squeak. The guard bears down on me. I clear my throat and try again. "Look, I've only got f-"  
  
"Here." Says my Father's voice.   
  
The three of us whirl around in unison. Father's cell is barless, like the rest of the ones in this newer area. I know there's a barrier there, invisible, but it still freaks me out. I still don't see him directly - he's sitting in the deep shadows in the corner. But I can just make out his hand moving, and then a single galleon slides across the floor of the cell towards us. It hits the enchanted barrier and skitters back a few inches. The guards shift nervously. The bigger one steps forward. He's eyeing the gold with the same stupid-suspicious look I see on Crabbe and Goyle all the time. It almost makes me want to smile. Or not.  
  
"You." He says to the shape of my father in the corner. "Don't move a bloody muscle, or-" he whips out his wand. "I been practicing Cruciatus."  
  
My Father doesn't move.   
  
"Righ'..." The big guard reaches out to the barrier.   
  
"It's against protocol." The small one, who has me by the shoulders a safe distance away, says.  
  
The big one doesn't give any sound that he heard. Instead, he kneels down on the floor directly in front of the galleon. He rests his wand tip on the invisible wall and whispers something, fast. Then he makes a little sweeping motion with his wand, like he's drawing a line on the wall. And suddenly, there's a hole. I can't really see it, but I know it's there, a space just big enough for the guard's considerably large hand to squeeze through, because the rest of the barrier suddenly shivers, rippling in wider and wider circles away from the missing spot, as if it were a puddle that someone threw a rock at. The guard beside me hold his breath.  
  
Moving faster than I would've thought was possible from someone his size, the kneeling guard snakes his hand into Father's cell and grabs the coin. He pulls it back out and makes the same drawing motion with his wand. Instantly, the barrier stops rippling. The smaller guard exhales.  
  
"Nice." He says, stepping over and making the last galleon vanish into his robes (he's already relieved me of my four). They both look considerably braver now. I suppose it's the first time they've ever had to get that close to him. I really can't blame them for being nervous. The big one turns back to Father's shadowy figure.  
  
"Y'know, we could get you in some kinda trouble, having unauthorized money in yeh room."  
  
"You could. And then I could relate how you just made unauthorized contact with a prisoner-namely, me, after first threatening me with an Unforgivable Curse. All things considered, I'd say we were even." This is the longest speech I've heard my Father make in almost half a year. My jeer returns with a vengeance.   
  
With dirty looks but not another word, the two guards walk off down the short hallway, and disappear around the corner.  
  
After a second, Father says, "Go and see if they're eavesdropping."  
  
I do so, peeking around the sharp corner. The two are already little dots, hurrying away down the long hall out of C-block. I return.  
  
"No, sir. They're gone already."  
  
"Thank God," says my Father, who stands and stretches in the dark corner. "First intelligent thing they've done in five months." And then he steps into the light.   
  
I have to sit down on the stone floor.   
  
Five months in Azkaban have made my Father thin and sharp-looking, and paler than I thought was possible, even for him. His face is gaunt and his eyes are hooded, but somehow it doesn't look disturbing, the way it does on Aunt Bellatrix; just imposing, and more than a little scary. Other than that, he's exactly the way I remember. It's not the fact that he's changed that makes me dizzy. It's the fact that he's barely changed at all. Even his ugly grey prison robe is as immaculate as anything he'd wear on the Outside. His hair is longer, and loose around his face - they must not let prisoners have strings or ribbons, anything they could use to choke someone, I guess - but it's still perfectly combed. The only truly different thing is his eyes. Before he was arrested, they were cold, sly, and a bit malicious. Now they're filled with so much out-and-out cruelty and viciousness that I could swear they're glowing. I can't look directly at them for more than a split second.   
  
Father crosses his cell and stands above me, inches away through the invisible wall. The beginnings of a smirk show on his thin face. I realize I'm gaping like a house elf.   
  
"Hello, Draco." He says. Then, grimacing, "Get up. Your robes will be filthy."  
  
I stand. And keep standing, awkwardly. Then, seeing a chance to impress him, I pull out my wand and try something McGonagal was showing us just yesterday, which I turned out to have a knack for. I draw myself a seat in midair. It stays there for a minute, revolving, then clunks to earth: a squishy green armchair, quite more hideous than I would've liked, but at least it's there. And it's my best yet. I sit back down, proudly.   
  
My Father snorts. "My, my," he says, pulling a chair of his own close to the barrier. "The wonders of a Hogwarts education these days."  
  
I sink back into my chair a bit more. He looks at me with distaste.  
  
"Obviously, though, manners aren't among the curriculum. Do not sit before I do, Draco."  
  
I spring to my feet for a second time, for less than a second before he seats himself. I know I'm blushing already - I must look like I've sat on a tack. Luckily, there's no one else around to see - Father is plenty enough.   
  
He smirks fully this time, and waits for me to get comfortable.   
  
There's a second of terrifying silence.   
  
"Well, I'll waste no time, then." Says my Father. His eyes shine like deadly icebergs. "We have much to discuss." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Yep. You read right. It's yet ANOTHER cliffhanger! I know, I know, I'm sooooooryyyyyy.... But man, it's harder writing with Lucius than I thought. Y'like his description? I just couldn't bring myself to make him unnatractive *blushes*.  
  
So, on the blockage front - I've got some ideas now (a million thanks to the beautifical orangepenguin), but nothing definite...I might not be updating next weekend, this is such a big thing. Any more SUGGESTIONS (!!!!) will be greatly appreciated. *coughHINTcough* Send them, along with questions, comments, and all their Ilk. So says Kitty, Mistress of the Fic. Disobey and feel her Wrath.  
  
~Rawr.  
  
WHEE! REVIEWSIES!  
  
orangepenguin - dearest Moldy, you were the only one to help my poor, stuck lil brain *hugs, head pats, and presents with minibus load of Valentine's chocolates* I love you forever!   
  
ps - the quoccas have sent word that Paris may be permanently incapacitated. But they lifted her Target giftcard, so there's no real loss.  
  
LaughingDragoness - Dude. Your reviews are cool. Your fanfic is Cool. You, in general, are really bleeping COOOOOOOOL. Need I say more? :) 


	8. The Returning Revealed

Oh boy. I've got some explaining to do.

First off, sugaroos, thank you for hanging in there! I can't believe I kept my place on your fav. lists and update alerts without updating for

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG.

Your patience is oh so admirable - I heart you all! Warm fuzzy kudos to all my reviewers, especially BubblyFizz03, who gave me a much-needed wake up call.

I won't bore you with any long explanations, so you won't rip up your scroll bars to get to the good stuff. Suffice to say that I wrote this in a personally difficult period, and started relying on it for reviews more than the joy of writing. Boo for me. When I left this piece all those months ago, I wasn't sure if I would ever return mournful violin music in background. I decided not to rush it, and see if I could get back into the story at my own pace. And luckily, with the help of me pals (and the rapidly-oncoming release date for the ACTUAL book 6), it worked! So thanks again; and now sit back and relax, Dahlin's. Let the angst resume!

-the Late Miss Kitty.

Chapter 8

Father settles back, languidly, making the spindly prison chair look like the world's finest dragon hide sofa. I swallow hard, but my adam's apple suddenly seems to take up all the room in my throat.

"So, tell me. How are things at that, er, fine school of yours?"

"They're fine. I mean, they're insufferable - um - which is the same as ever, I guess." Why do I always feel like I've said just the wrong thing?

"And that half-arsed buzzard of a headmaster?"

"I couldn't say, sir. I don't see him much; even less since the Dark Lord's return. I guess he's fine."

"Hm."

And then he's silent, staring at me. I try to imagine that he's just studying me, because he missed me. But Azkaban - and my father - have a remarkable way of squeezing all the hope out of thoughts. I really shouldn't kid myself. He's looking at me, yes, but I know he's not seeing: I recognize that expression, after sixteen years. He's plotting something. Something big. I feel an invisible band of terror around my chest squeezing tighter and tighter, crushing muscles, cracking ribs...

Father opens his mouth, and the thing around my chest snaps. I realize I'm sweating like a chocolate frog in summer, but he doesn't notice. I think he takes it as his due. I don't want to know what he's about to say, I don't.

"Tell me something, Draco."

Okay, maybe it's not too bad. Maybe it's really nothing, he might have just missed me after all-

"Can I trust you?"

-it's bad.

"Yes, sir."

"Really, now?"

"Yes, really, sir. Yes."

"I certainly hope so. Because I have things to share with you that would create some very... unfortunate situations for me, were they leaked out." His whisper shifts into a hiss. "But I take comfort in the fact that however bad my punishment may be, the one who blurts such secrets will have it far, far worse, at the hand of the Dark Lord himself!"

By now I'm plastered against the back of my chair. My face feels cold. He leans back, swatting impatiently at his loose hair. It must be driving him crazy, having it down like that, not even slicked back like I usually keep mine. He always wore it in a ponytail. Mother once said that it was a shame, because she loved for him to wear it down. It was one of the few times I heard my Mother show her dislike of anything Father did. Mother... Without warning, my nerves get the best of me. I start babbling before Father can continue.

"But why me? Does Mother know any of this? Couldn't you tell her instead?" There. The damage is done. I watch for the anger to cloud over his face, but it doesn't come. He looks shocked, then... Thoughtful? Yes. My Father is seriously considering something I've said. I think I might faint. He starts again in the most gentle voice I've ever heard him use, the kind you would explain something to a child in.

"Your mother." He begins. "How can I say this? Your mother, Draco, is not a... complicated person. But she tends to complicate things for other people. Telling her any of what I'm about to tell you would do much more harm than good. Do you understand?"

I nod mutely. Something in me is offended, but another, bigger part, sees the logic in what he's saying. Since his arrest, Mother has been different. She's quieter, and drinks even more than usual. She's stopped going to so many parties. She cries too easily. I can just see her having a few sherries and spilling all kinds of things out for the whole world to hear. She was always bad about gossip.

"Very good. Now-"

"But what about Moon?" I blurt. I'm too amazed at my own boldness to stop myself. "Why can't he help you? He knows a lot more about everything than I do."

This time, he does look irritated. "HONESTLY, Draco, must you question everything I do?"

I mumble an apology, but my face must have been so curious that he answers me anyway.

"It's in Jeffrey's nature to brag. I'm amazed he's lasted this long, so far into Ministry security. He is growing more tiresome than useful. Our Master loses interest. I doubt Moon will survive the month."

"Oh." What else is there to say? Except that there must be SOMEONE else, anywhere, who could bear the burden he's asking of me. I can't, and I don't want to. Who else could-

"Stop thinking so much, Draco. It makes you look ill. And before you ask, no, there is no one who could take your place in this. So stop trying to undermine me, boy. I'm being FAR more patient than you deserve."

"Sorry."

He lifts an eyebrow.

"Sir."

"There. Really, I expected any son of mine to have more spine than you. I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to help me. You were always painfully eager. But perhaps..." He rises to his feet and towers over me once more. "PERHAPS you no longer care for our cause? I would think it impossible, given your breeding. But miracles do happen: look at that mutt Bellatrix rid us of last year; he was your mother's cousin. It may be you've inherited some traitor's gene. Most unfortunate. Shall I send someone down to dear Hogwarts one night? Perhaps weakness can be forced out of you... _crucio_?"

The blood freezes in my veins. There is no way out of this, after all. I bow my head.

"Forgive me, sir. Of course I'll do anything I can to help our cause."

"ANYTHING, Draco?"

I swallow again to keep my throat from closing in on itself. "Anything," I say.

"Excellent. We have not much time left, I'd best get to it. First look at me, Draco."

I obey, and he catches my gaze with his. "Now stay there." He says. "I am going to give you your instructions. If at any time you look away, or if your eyes betray even a glimpse of deceit towards me, I will see to it that you are dead within the week. Do you understand?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"Our Lord is gathering power. He has infiltrated all but the highest levels of Ministry security, has outposts of Death Eaters in every city and large town in the whole of western Europe, and is at work on extending His forces across the sea."

I have gone into shutdown. I am afraid of betraying my fear that I seem to have lost control of my body altogether. I couldn't show deceit if I wanted to. There is a roaring in my ears, but I catch every awful word.

"His strength is all but returned, His army is mobilizing. The time is ripe for a display of His power. Something... to start the new campaign off with a bang. And what better place than the one so many fools believe is untouchable, even for Him?"

For the first time, my father smiles. It's the worst thing I've ever seen.

"Nothing is impossible for our Master, Draco. Not anymore. He has learnt from His mistakes; if there was any weakness in Him, it is gone now. He has conquered death itself. After such a feat..." He leans in, grinning like a schoolboy, "...the overthrow of Hogwarts will be only a trifle."


End file.
